"It doesn't feel much like it at present: I'm fairly bursting with spirits," smiled Mr. Walkingshaw, and then recollected himself and grew grave again. "What's to be done supposing people do notice?" he asked.
"We'll just have to stretch a point," said Andrew somberly, "and give some other explanation."
"We might give some decent, respectable doctor the credit for it," his father suggested.
"They'd all be afraid to take it, if it went on any further. Imagine a respectable doctor admitting he'd made a man grow younger! I dare say they might be proud of such a performance in London, but they've more decency here!"
It seemed characteristic of Mr. Walkingshaw's calamity that he should bounce up like a tennis ball after each well-meant effort to depress him.
"In that case," said he cheerfully, "we'll just have to say I am trying to make myself more of a companion for you."
Andrew started violently.
"We'll say no such thing! Do you suppose I'm going to have my name mixed up with it?"
His father remained serene.